Chapter 3 Lyx
THREE
Lyx
Killing Cav is always an option.
Lyx jerks to a halt where she’s stalking down the beach. The temptation is strong; she could turn back. Cav can’t have gotten far from the docks. She’ll find a broken bottle along the way and entice him into a dark corner before she drags the jagged edge across his throat.
But killing him isn’t enough.
Not for all the time she’s spent imagining it.
For the past two years, that vision has hung like a portrait in her mind.
It’s the backdrop to all her thoughts, a work of art that she pours over day after day.
There are always new details to enchant her.
What sounds will Cav make when she gets her teeth into him?
Which will die first: the ember inside him, or the light in his eyes?
Will he fight her off, or will he embrace this urge the same way he welcomed all her others?
A shiver darts through her. No. No matter how the memories try to crawl back into her conscience, she sloughs them off.
Killing Cav is too easy. After all these months, she wants to take her time with it.
Saliva gathers in the back of her throat.
It’s not Cav’s death that entices her; it’s the thought of ripping him apart and devouring the pieces, a torturous end that she can draw out for as long as she pleases.
He doesn’t deserve a quick death. He deserves the agonizing pain he’s caused her.
He deserves to have every second of his life invaded the same way he’s done to her.
Her foot snags on a clump of seaweed. She kicks to free herself, but the tendrils tangle around her legs until she’s forced to tug off her sandals.
For all this time spent imagining Cav, she wasn’t prepared for what seeing him again would do to her. He looks different now. His hair is longer, half-covering the slit pupils of his eyes. Even the vibrant color has returned to his skin.
She clamps her lips together, like that will stifle the thoughts.
The pearls of her dress clack as she picks her way along the beach.
She doesn’t know which direction she’s headed, but she knows it’s the right one; the tugging sensation at the base of her throat tells her that.
Eventually, she comes to a shallow inlet where the waves roll deep into the island.
Her shoulders tense. She has to cross here.
Wading across would be simple, but her gills flutter anxiously.
The ocean is not her home anymore; she lost its favor when she lost everything else.
Waves that once created her now roll past with white cap warnings that she doesn’t understand, spoken in a language she can no longer decipher.
She dares not even dip her toes in.
Instead, she moves further inland until she finds some jagged rocks poking out of the water.
With each step, the sharp edges dig into her feet, but she bites her cheek to keep moving.
Past the shrubbery and driftwood, an abandoned cottage comes into view.
It can hardly be called a building any longer, vines growing wild over its sides and leaving little more than broken windows and a lamp flickering inside.
Lyx’s stomach drops. Tidus beat her back here. Who knows how long he’s been waiting? No doubt he’s been stewing in the dark, turning his anger over in his hands until it sharpens into something worse.
She has to remind herself that’s what she wants. It’s what she needs. Chaos. That thought alone stirs the hungry pit inside her until it opens its jaws to be fed.
The splintering cottage stairs prick her.
She feels for the door, but when she pushes, it doesn’t budge.
She has to jam her shoulder into it twice before it opens.
Its rusty hinges squeal, a grating sound outdone only by the stench of mildew.
When Lyx finally squeezes inside, grains of salt and sand dig into her feet.
Across the room, a busted crate hosts an oil lantern that sheds less than a foot of light.
Lyx lingers in the shadows for an entire minute. It’s a foolish act of rebellion, but she relishes the small hit of power, like she can control what happens. She’s not naive enough to believe that completely. Her defiance will be nothing more than foreplay, but it works for now.
A figure finally leans forward into the light, lips curled back over his teeth. “You lost our fucking mark?”
There’s no use denying Roderick is gone, but giving into Tidus does nothing for her.
He’ll be pissed no matter what she says, and the air is already thick with discord.
She might as well get her fill. Without a word, she slinks across the room, bending at the waist to twist the lantern’s knob.
As the wick grows, so does Tidus’s scowl.
He looks different than the day he captured her. He was brutally handsome then, but now, he’s just brutal. His teal skin has faded to a sickly gray under strands of seaweed tangling in his hair. Barnacles cling to his face next to sand dollars embedded in his dry gills.
The sea is trying to reclaim him. It’s a part of their pact, the agreement all marine species made with the ocean long ago.
Whatever they do must embody the powerful allure of the sea.
Sirens are given their songs in exchange for inciting chaos.
Undines are free to traverse the land, so long as they have a band of loyal followers behind them.
Unfortunately for Tidus, his company has dwindled to only Lyx and a small sloop.
When he caught her, he boasted a massive ship and a crew of thirty men, pickpockets and crooks and racketeers.
They were all hungry for glory, but Captain Tidus’s cruelty and greed drove even them away until he was left with nothing.
Nothing but Lyx.
Yet Tidus refuses to return to the ocean.
It’s as if he thinks he can outsmart the sea itself, taunting the waves by sailing from one con job to another and upsetting the balance of nature.
Most infuriating of all, it works. No matter how many storms they weather, Tidus always finds a way back to land.
The sea always claims its due.
That’s what Lyx reminds herself, even if she is powerless to make it happen. Whatever sway she had with the ocean was destroyed the moment she was forced into Tidus’s service. She hasn’t stepped in the sea in years. If she called out to it, she fears she’d hear only an empty echo in return.
Impatient, Tidus presses his pointer finger down against the table. “You heard me.”
The hungry pit inside her takes a long drink. Despite the pandemonium on the Silver Spoon, she needs more. With one hand, she plucks a pin from her hair and turns away. “Relax.”
Tidus’s chair creaks under his weight.
She refuses to flinch, no matter how her skin crawls. Give Tidus an inkling of fear, and he’ll hunt it down like a shark with a drop of blood. Placing the pin between her teeth, she unwinds the tendrils of her hair and takes a steadying breath.
Tidus’s voice is low and threatening. “I’m sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”
The scales on the back of her shoulders lift. It’s like she can’t help herself, her hunger egging her on. She pulls another pin from her hair and slips it between her knuckles. It’s a flimsy weapon. She should have kept the cheese knife from the ship, but using that on Tidus would only enrage him.
Which is what she wants, she reminds herself again. Fighting means feeding. Fighting is what she needs.
Her voice is clipped by the pin between her teeth. “I got what you wanted.”
Tidus pushes to his feet, and the rotting floorboards groan. “Is that so?”
She hates having him at her back, blocking out the light when he towers over her. With one finger, he twists a lock of her hair until it tugs at her scalp.
She doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t even breathe.
His teeth scrape her neck, but any tenderness is a mask for his barely-concealed fury. “How could you get what I want,” he asks slowly, “if our mark is at the bottom of the fucking ocean?”
Her throat constricts. Depths, she wishes she could command him away, but she can’t even look at him.
That would be an invitation, a strike of the match she was so eager to light moments ago.
She thinks of all the sailors she’s drowned.
Is this how they felt as she pulled them beneath the waves?
Is this what it’s like to dangle over the mouth of a beast?
Tidus’s fingers clamp under her chin to jerk her toward him.
She resists, but he wrenches harder, and she bites down a pained gasp when the broken shells that coat his hands dig into her flesh.
“You seem distracted, little fish.” His saccharine tone curdles in her stomach while his fingers tighten.
“Which is odd, because I’m speaking to you. ”
Her pulse races. She has to remember that this is what she needs, an appetizer for the feast that comes after.
The danger is a necessity. It’s the drink that fills her, drizzling down her throat until she can’t swallow any more.
She chokes on it and spits back all the venom she has. “I told you, I got what you want.”